


Bittersweet

by CatMeisterCoal



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst?, Drinking, Fluffy, I promise, It's sweet, M/M, They're good though, dares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22065970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatMeisterCoal/pseuds/CatMeisterCoal
Summary: Secret Solenoid gift for one Mezzo! I wish you a very happy winter holiday and New Year! May your days be bright and full of joy and I wish you the strength to face whatever troubles come your way.Summary: Thunderclash and Rodimus play a game of tipsy chicken and feelings are revealed in the wake of it all.
Relationships: Rodimus/Thunderclash
Comments: 17
Kudos: 50





	Bittersweet

It started the way most bets do, with just enough drink and just enough boredom for things to get out of hand. Who suggested it? Well, that doesn’t matter now with everyone’s eyes on them as they play a game that’s a little too real, a little too close to the spark for it to be just a game which, of course, just makes it all the more entertaining for their audience. The crowd around them is nothing more than a mess of shadows and odd pieces of color and metal, shifting and flowing in Thunerclash’s peripherals while in the center of his sites is the one mech he’s always wished and hoped would look at him. He’s dreamed of the moment he’d be the center of attention, in the full force of Rodimus’ gaze, leaving room for no other. Now that he was here, right where he’d always wanted to be, he doesn’t know how to act or what to say or what to do but that’s crucial to the game. He has to remind himself that’s what this is while his mind swirls from just enough drink to loosen his struts and warm the energon in his fuel lines that turn scorching as a single, yellow servo barely brushes his arm, tracing a nonsensical pattern before resting there. Purples and reds bounce off red and gold in the darkness of the bar, pulling his attention in more and creating a sharp point through the haze of his mind. He sees Rodimus clearer than he ever has before and he has to remind himself that it’s a game.

True, matrix blue optics burn into him hotter than any solar flare, lighting up and flickering at the faint echoes of chuckles and jeers that Thunderclash can’t even begin to process, his focus so intense on the mech in front of him. They’re hypnotizing to the point he almost lets go of his drink and has to tighten his grip imperceptibly to keep it from falling from his grasp. Words alight the air in Rodimus’ voice, thick like sweetened engex and just as rich, filling Thunderclash’s mind with static as he doesn’t catch the meaning but the voice is enough all on its own. He’s far more focused on the curve and tug of Rodimus’ lip plates as he forms each word slowly as though tasting each one before letting it fall free, perfect and harmonious. Tumultuous, hot vents catch in Thunderclash’s systems as a servo smoothes over his shoulder which distracts him enough that he does indeed jump in surprise when he sees how close Rodimus has become, red and gold becoming his entire world as he looks upon the mech who’s all but hovering over him. Those perfect lip plates pull back into a toothy smirk that shows all too well that Rodimus knows he’s won, totally and completely won but little does he know how much of him he’s won or how long ago his victory had been complete. Thunderclash holds himself back, reminding himself that this is a game and that smirk isn’t for him. He can’t lean the few inches forward to taste that smirk or feel those denta that would be so sharp against his own lips or glossa. Then, a movement too fast for Thunderclash to catch in his disoriented state and he feels Rodimus’ lips on his cheek, warm and firm then gone, leaving a tingling ghost of sensation in their wake.

“How about that, Clash?” Rodimus murmurs just next to his audial before rapidly pulling back to drink like nothing ever happened and Thunderclash has to remind himself again that this is game.

Thunderclash lets out his held vents and pulls in fresh air before giving him a winning smile that earns a pout and even a bit of a scowl and, oh, doesn’t he look wonderful even when he’s being competitive?

“I have to admit that was very smooth, Captain,” Thunderclash talks around the tightness in his intake to sound unaffected and joyful even as his spark burns.

Their audience chuckles with delight, verbally patting him on the back which only serves to make Rodimus look more annoyed as he buries himself in his drink. This is the game, he can’t comfort Rodimus or that would only serve to annoy him further. So, Thuderclash plays. He shifts, stands up and walks around the table with his servo trailing around its edge before stopping in front of Rodimus who rises to meet him while setting his glass roughly on the table. A tense still in the crowd pulls at the space around them now that their audience has once again fallen silent with stalled vents, enraptured by Thunderclash’s display as they wait for his move. Thunderclash places his hand just beneath Rodimus’ chin, tilting up his face to look him in the optics. Carefully, he makes his strike, hitting Rodimus with a look that he’s practiced for longer than he cares to admit, interested and with a certain kind of hunger that overwhelms without it being predatory. It’s a look meant to make heat sink into whoever gets caught in his gaze. It’s something he learned from Impactor all those years ago, a trick to evade a crowd by wooing them into shock and awe. Now, with Rodimus at the center of his attention, experiencing the full force of all he can display, fear pierces Thunderclash’s spark like a lance of ice. He has never felt so desperate or lost as he does when he is at the mercy of Rodimus. The control he wields is a sword of clay compared to the brilliance of the mech before him, a brilliance that is so expertly and effortlessly expressed and manipulated to Rodimus’ will. If Rodimus were to simply vent on him now, he fears he would just fall and crumble to dust.

No matter, this was a test of skill in manipulating the public eye, he needn’t test his will in the face of Rodimus’ sheer being. All the same, with slightly-widened, glowing optics gazing up at him and pliant proto-mesh lip plates parted ever so delicately, Thunderclash almost blanks. He just barely manages to retain his composure as he reminds himself once again that this is a game.

“You are every bit as skilled as you claim yourself to be, Rodimus. Anyone would think me a fool for not noticing the perfection crafted by Primus himself in the mech that stands before me now,” Thunderclash speaks low in that deep timbre of his that he discovered was something that makes those who hear it all but melt at its warmth while his words feel sharp with too much truth.

Slowly, to hide the panic and faint tremor pounding through him, he leans in and captures those lips on his own on a whim. All at once he feels dizzy, like spinning out on a rain-soaked highway as the smell of warm metal, clean and sharp scented wax, and the faintest bit of char bombards his senses while he tastes the steel and lingering engex of Rodimus’ lips. Pressing no further, he keeps the kiss chaste then pulls away, gratified by the hitching of air in Rodimus’ intake and awakens to a storm of noise as the crowd around them roars with cheers and hollers. He pauses to steady himself and disguises the moment of imbalance with a smirk and a brush of his thumb over Rodimus’ chin before sauntering away. The fire sparked within Rodimus’ optics burn into Thunderclash’s mind as he commits the look to memory, unsure to perceive it as rage or a silent promise for a rematch, pondering it all while he walks from the crowd.  
Once away from prying eyes and behind the door of his quarters, he slides down the door to a sitting position and traces his digits over his lip plates. Then, he places his hand over his chest where his spark churns with excitement, love, pride… and longing.

Thunderclash isn’t given much time to wallow as his door suddenly opens before he can react and he winds up falling flat on his back onto the cold ground, dazed. When he comes to his senses he sees Rodimus standing above him and he scrambles to stand up to meet him, ungracefully clinging to the doorframe. Once on his feet, he looks down on his unexpected guest and the ghosts of sensations haunt his frame as smoldering optics burrow into him, effectively locking any and all words in his intake. Then, firm servos are pushing against his chest, roughly pushing him back into his room while meeting very little resistance with how surprised he is. The world is ruthlessly quiet so that he can hear even the faintest whir of their inner mechanisms and the raw emotion in Rodimus’ heavy vents. Thunderclash’s hands fall unwittingly on Rodimus’ waist, caught between the decision to distance himself from the seething mech and trying to calm him down to find himself frozen between the two. Breaking through his swirling thoughts is the feeling of Rodimus’ plating beneath his servos, warm and smooth, an all-too-welcome distraction to the piercing, accusatory gaze upon him. Rodimus doesn’t let him stay dazed for long, bringing him back into sharp clarity through sheer force by digging his digits into the top of Thunderclash’s chestplate and tugging him down so they’re face to face. Sharp pinpoints of pain alight the sensors where Rodimus digs his digits into Thunderclash’s plating that keep him almost unbearably present and breathless as the signals warp in his systems making pain be perceived as pleasure and pleasure as pain.

Heat floods through his systems once more, hazing his sensors and he tries to speak but nothing coherent comes out. Rodimus seems to flare to life, his biolights flickering erratically as his plating becomes almost scorching to the touch making Thunderclash reflexively tighten his grip. With that, something clicks into place and like a light through the fog, Thunderclash sees the frustration in Rodimus, not fury or rage but frustration. He’s upset so, of course, Thunderclash’s first instinct is to comfort him by smoothing a hand up Rodimus’ back and only after he’s done it, does he realize his mistake and tenses once more. Rodimus doesn’t miss the action, denta gritting further at being coddled and pulls Thunderclash’s helm towards his own, fingers digging into his plating in desperation that Thunderclash’s systems want to confuse for possessiveness.

“Damn you,” Rodimus hisses, “You always have to one-up me. You’re always so much better with your candor, your work ethic, your flirting, your… ugh, everything. Why do you have to be so perfect?”

Those words reverberate in Thunderclash’s helm as he clings to them desperately, another scrap of some semblance of adoration from Rodimus but he still can’t accept them. He begins to shake his head to deny the sentiment but words still fail him. It doesn’t matter. Clearly tired of this, whatever this was, Rodimus pulls him down the rest of the way, sealing their lips together and all at once, Thunderclash loses himself in the feeling of Rodimus. The kiss is like every battle Thunderclash has ever been in, violent and fast with movements he can’t fully track so he works on instinct as he lets Rodimus lead the way. He can feel every bit of helplessness in the way Rodimus clings to him and moves as if to taste every part of him at once, pulling Thunderclash along for the ride, helpless against the storm of emotions and touches crackling over his frame. A sob breaks from Rodimus’ intake and just like that it all comes crashing down. He can feel Rodimus shake in his arms, his body quaking with the force of his emotions, his ragged vents against his lips, and taste the sobs on his glossa. All at once, everything slows as he cups Rodimus’ face so he can kiss him sweetly, gently with none of the fervor from before. Between each kiss, he hushes him, soothes him while smoothing a hand down his back to calm his tense plating before finally breaking to see Rodimus torn with frustration, fear, and undeniable heartbreak.

Confused and lost, Thunderclash rests his helm against his and whispers, “Rodimus?”  
“I don’t want this to be a game anymore,” Rodimus gasps out, his voice sounding so broken as it pierces Thunderclash’s spark.

“Good,” Thunderclash whispers against his cheek, cradling his helm and holding him close to his chest with his arm firmly wrapped around him, “because I’m done playing.”


End file.
